


so swiftly it flew

by Cerberusia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Archery, Gen, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Allison's never told anyone is that she likes the old romantic gestures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so swiftly it flew

**Author's Note:**

> A spot of Allison gen begun just after the S2 finale, the details of which have probably been Jossed (S3 is rather hazy in my mind), but to hell with it, I'm posting it anyway.

What Allison's never told anyone is that she likes the old romantic gestures. Flowers, hand-kisses, giving your love a handkerchief as a favour, all the courtly love tropes. A good, old-fashioned romance, that's what she wants. But that's not for her, in the same way that all girlish, childish things aren't: she does gymnastics but not ballet, and while the other girls are doing handstands in the shallow end, she swims laps. She puts on her makeup like warpaint, her dresses like armour so people don't wonder at the muscles in her arms. It's necessary camouflage, but she knows she's not meant to enjoy it.

Then comes her mother's death and having to lead the family business, and she gives up camouflage altogether: why shouldn't they see that she's strong, in her dark jeans, heavy boots and leather jacket? When you're hunting, you don't bother to do your hair nice or put on makeup that'll smear. She gives up heels and floral prints like she gives up all her weakness, buried six feet deep with her mother who always wanted her to be harder, stronger, better.

When the man who she can no longer bear to call Grandfather dies and the truth, the manipulation is revealed, she goes home and changes into the comfiest, ugliest sweatpants she owns. It's a mild spring night, but she can't get warm. She sleeps for fourteen hours anyway, the sleep of the dead, and when she wakes up she doesn't feel any better, a thick sour taste in her mouth, her head heavy and sore. Dad tells her the truth about how Mom got bitten and she can't even muster up the energy to have a screaming match about it, just considers it, detached and logical, then accepts it and feels even worse. She's both restless and lethargic and cries on and off for nearly a week, brief quiet spells of weeping that don't ease the unbearable pressure inside her. Scott comes to see her on one of her better days and the words _I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't know, I'm sorry I blamed you, I'm so sorry,_ get stuck in her throat. But his hand is warm in hers, and he's the first thing to make her feel genuinely better this whole week past. When he leaves she takes a shower, and the water finally helps clear her head. She's not great, but she feels human again.

It's Lydia who puts her back together in the end. Lydia, who shows up unannounced, goes through her drawers to find where she hid all her dresses and cardigans and pink and sets out an outfit for her: a ruffled dress in pale pink and blue, cream cardigan and heels, an amethyst pendant. She stands over her while she does her makeup and helps her pick a hairstyle.

Allison is grateful: she's ready for this, her rebirth. But she still wants to know why Lydia's helping her when she'd be fully within her rights to leave them all out to dry.

"I don't do sulking, it's bad for my complexion," she says curtly, and Allison accepts it in the spirit in which it's meant.

Lydia takes her out to the mall and they do typical teenage girl things together: look at clothes, get milkshakes. It's all very wholesome, even with Lydia's occasionally catty comments. Neither of them mention Jackson: he's not relevant any more, Lydia had told her.

Then they get back in the car and Allison drives them to the sporting goods store.

She spares a moment to consider the 3D targets in the shape of a bear, a mountain lion and a wolf, casts a critical eye over their selection of crossbow bolts, and heads straight for their new selection of horsebows.

"Go for the Scythian," says Lydia, as Allison sizes up the bows. It looks as good as any of them to Allison's inexpert eye, so she finds a Scythian with a 32 pound draw and tries it. The draw is smooth and the bow itself is light, half the weight of her recurve. It'll be harder to keep steady, but so much easier to carry through undergrowth. The shop assistant asks if she wants to try it out on the range, and she says yes.

"Why did you pick the Scythian?" she asks Lydia as the assistant, bearing some wooden arrows, leads them through to the range.

"It's thought that the Scythians were who the Amazons were based on," says Lydia. "I thought it would be appropriate."

Allison grins and hands the arrows off to Lydia, keeping one to shoot. The bow has no nock points and no arrow rest, so she makes her best approximation and pulls it back to the corner of her mouth in the barebow reference she's hardly used since she started using a sight years ago - she keeps wanting to move her hand to under her chin instead. But she likes the different style, a different way of looking at the target.

 _An Amazon, huh_ , she thinks, and lets her arrow fly.


End file.
